Blue
by buffyvh
Summary: Fuji’s death is a blow to everyone who knew him, but especially to Tezuka. Tezuka KunimitsuFuji Shuusuke Warnings: Character Death, Angst


**Disclaimer:** Prince of Tennis, including all recognizable characters and plot lines from either the anime or manga, do not belong to me. This fanfiction is purely for entertainment purposes.

**A/N:** This was pretty hard for me, I've never written of a death before. I'd like to thank emilyhm who was with me the whole time, helping me research, giving me ideas and reading it over. Baka for reading it and coming on early just to help me, and Zizzy for making sure I didn't go bonkers. Halfway through the fic sort of took a life of its own, and any mistakes about Japanese culture and stuff in general is my fault. I want to say thank you to reddwarfer for creating this challenge, and Zen, I hope you like it! Thank you to Bean who betaed this for me!

This fanfiction was written for livejournal community theirwhiteday which is modded by reddwarfer for zenyamatori.

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Tezuka stood as Fuji's sister walked down the hall toward them, heels clicking against the white and grey tile. Her eyebrows were furrowed, as if she was concentrating. As she stopped and surveyed the waiting room, the Seigaku regulars turned to look at her with hopeful, upturned faces. Her mouth opened but she paused, closing her eyes for a few moments before opening them again. She wanted to spare them the news, and Tezuka knew it was bad, he could feel it.

"Extensive head trauma…the doctors don't think he will make it…off life support…organ donation…brain dead…what he would have wanted…" Tezuka's brain shut down. No. This was not happening. This was a joke, at any moment now Fuji would come out of a doorway smiling, asking them if they had fallen for it. Tezuka wouldn't even be angry, he just wanted Fuji out **now.** But…nothing was happening. The air around him had stilled, and Yumiko…Yumiko was crying, tears rolling down her face as she gasped for air and seemed to collapse upon herself, falling to her knees on the tile. Her hair curtaining her face as her fingers curled, nails scraping against the floor.

Tezuka felt as if he had left his body and was watching his own face and his team mates react to the news. Fuji was in coma? It couldn't be, Fuji was strong, maybe even stronger than he was. His smaller stature and lovely smile may have given some people the wrong impression about that but the tennis player was a genius and protected the ones he cared about with his life. He couldn't be in coma—it simply wasn't possible. This was _Fuji_ they were talking about. Fuji Shuusuke. Tezuka slowly turned to his team mates. It was obvious they had heard what Fuji's sister Yumiko had said.

Momoshiro was halfway out of his seat, his face contorted in a look of horror that might have, in any other situation been comical. _Any other…except this one._ It was one of those rare times where he was completely speechless. His mouth was open in an o out of surprise. Tezuka wished he would start yelling, start fighting with Kaidoh[ianything[/i but silence. Kaidoh's face looked even angrier than usual; his hands in fists so tight that Tezuka could see the veins popping from where he stood. Kaidoh's jaw was clenched and Tezuka was sure that if he was standing just a bit closer he would hear Kaidoh's teeth gritting against each other.

Kawamura was pacing back and forth, his hands fluttering around him like he had no idea what to do with them. Without his racket, without tools that he knew how to wield with skill he was so docile, so unconfident. His face almost looked confused; this was something he couldn't fix with practice or smashing a hadoukyuu. This was out of his control. Kawamura was good friends with Fuji and Tezuka knew that with his gentle nature he had relied on Fuji. This would not be easy on him. Tezuka made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

Eiji was staring from Yumiko, to Tezuka, to Oishi in quick succession, his eyes wide.  
"No! This isn't true!! It's not happening! Nonono! Fuji's going to get better! He promised! Fuji promised!" Tezuka wanted to slap him into silence as the rest of the team turned to look at Eiji. Eiji clutched Oishi's arm so tightly that Tezuka unconsciously winced to himself. Oishi however, hadn't seemed to notice, a look similar to Eiji's covering his face. He was the mother of Seigaku—the thought of Fuji lying in a hospital bed as the life slowly trickled out of him would destroy Oishi from the inside out. Oishi empathized so well, but would never think about himself. He would be there for the others, but not himself.

Ryoma's back was to Tezuka, and as far as he could tell there was no reaction. Tezuka waited, expecting a reaction. A bowed head. Tensed muscles. Then Ryoma turned, his face as blank as the day he had first arrived at Seigaku.

"Fuji is strong Buchou." Tezuka gave him a nod, almost unnoticeable. There was so much meaning behind that sentence—Fuji was like iron, but he knew Ryoma was telling him he, Tezuka Kunimitsu, was the Pillar of Seigaku and that the team was looking to him for guidance on how to deal with the situation. _"I won't fail them Echizen._

Inui was the only normal one, scribbling away in his notebook, mumbling incoherently under his breath. Part of Tezuka wanted to walk up and punch him, or at least make him run laps for his…normalcy with the situation. But Tezuka was his captain. He also knew that without his notebook to hide behind, Inui would probably fall apart.

----

The regulars filed into the room, one after another. The room seemed so large with just Fuji's still form in the center but with all of the regulars around the bed it was almost suffocating. It was dim, most of the light coming from a lamp next to Fuji's bed and the blinking lights of the machines next to him. The green of his heart rate monitor, the steady line jumping up and down and the sound of the ventilator, the harsh breathing, made Tezuka close his eyes. Fuji was still alive. He was holding on. The tubes attached to him made Tezuka hesitant, the last thing he wanted was to disturb the machines keeping Fuji alive but he put his hand over Fuji's still one.

It was cold. Even though Fuji had only been in the hospital for two days Tezuka had never seen him so white. His eyes were closed, that was normal, but his mouth was open around a tube that disappeared down his throat. A harsh invasion against his lips, tinged in pink, standing out against the paleness. Fuji was like a photograph left in the rain, the color running out of him.  
They had shared a day in the rain once. Fuji and Tezuka had been standing in the rain, waiting for the bus. The water ran through their hair and down the slick surface of their coats onto the ground, mixing with the water streaming toward the sewer just a few feet away. Tezuka swore he could see the peach color of Fuji's skin through the Seigaku uniform. The shirt and jacket were sticking to Fuji's chest and back, Tezuka was worried that he might be cold. Fuji however seemed unperturbed, his face still in its steady smile, even under the relentless assault of the rain.

At that moment he had known that he cared for Fuji. And he knew, he would always, always regret never telling him that; never telling him that he cared more for him than as a friend, more for him than as just a team mate, that he wanted to mean more to him than just a Buchou. That playing Singles 2 and 1 for so many years meant more than just numbers to him. He had wanted to reach out and put his arm around Fuji, to be the one to shelter him from the rain. He had stood there, debating until the bus came and Fuji had put his foot on the first step. Tezuka had stood there, the bitter taste of missed opportunity in his mouth until Fuji turned in his direction

"Thanks for waiting with me Tezuka. You know you didn't have to." There was a sad smile of Fuji's face as he leaned forward and put his arms around Tezuka's neck, his fingers brushing against his cheek. By the time Tezuka could breathe again, he was gone.

They were meant to be together.

Tezuka wasn't sure what he believed in. The people he had seen come in and out praying for Fuji, over his body, meant nothing to him. Yet, now what he wanted more than anything else was for something to believe in. Like Heaven. For he knew, that if there were such a thing as Heaven, that Fuji would undoubtedly be going there. And that Tezuka, would try his best to join him. When the doctors ushered them out Tezuka leaned down until he could smell Fuji's skin, his lips brushing against Fuji's ear.

"Whatever happens Fuji Shuusuke. I _will_ be seeing you again. This isn't goodbye."

----

Tezuka had never been to a wake. The suit was too stiff, the tie too tight, the shiny black shoes pinched his toes, yet none of it managed to bother him enough for him to notice. Next to him, the rest of the Seigaku regulars were sitting stiffly, as unused to the formal wear as he was. They were a spectrum of black and dark grey, no hint of what had brought them together, the blue, red and white of their uniforms. They were simply friends to him now, friends to a boy who was dead. He knew, that to repay Fuji for everything he had done for him, they had to move on. Easier said than done. That day, four days ago, Seigaku had lost one of the best tennis players that would ever walk its halls.

All he saw was the mahogany coffin, polished to a beautiful sheen, the brown and black rippling perfectly across the surface. Fuji's picture was propped up on the coffin. The picture looked recent. Fuji was standing in front of a backdrop of cherry blossoms, his hair framing a smiling, happy face. He wasn't looking into the camera as far as Tezuka could tell, but past it to whoever was holding it. Strangely enough, Tezuka found himself wondering what Fuji was being buried in. He knew that it was common to be buried in a suit, but Tezuka couldn't imagine that.

With his concentration on the picture and the casket that held Fuji's body Tezuka hardly listened to the priest reading a eulogy to the boy that he would never and could never know. He shifted his gaze to Yumiko when she stood up and the priest sat. Yumiko's eyes were on the wall behind the guests as she spoke.

"Shuusuke was my younger brother, my friend, my protector. He was always there for every member of our family and his friends, and I know that he still is." Behind Yumiko Tezuka saw Yuuta shift in discomfort, bringing a surge of anger so strong Tezuka himself was surprised. Yuuta…Fuji had always loved him. Always protected him. Could Fuji had changed who he was? To hold himself back, just so Yuuta could feel more accepted? Fuji would have given up his life for the boy, who in turn ignored his older brother and rejected Fuji's attempts to become closer to him. The boy, who had lived with Fuji the last 13 years of his life and couldn't wait to get away. Tezuka would never forgive him, but for Fuji's sake, he knew he would never deny him. But Yuuta looked miserable, his hands knotted together on his lap, his eyes glassy as if he were forcing himself not to cry. "…and that about him will never change. He led a life that we are all proud of him for, my only regret is that it was so short. I will always miss him. He is my brother. But he lives still, in our memories of him." Yumiko stopped talking and turned her head away, and there was a shift of movement around him.

Yuuta rose and went to his sister, holding her elbow in show of support. Tezuka wondered for whose sake it was. Yuuta's face was blank, but his eyes…they were the eyes of someone who would never stop berating himself. In that moment, Tezuka forgave him. Mostly. Yuuta knew he had messed up, and like Tezuka he would never have the chance to redeem himself. That in itself made them more alike than either would ever admit.

Tezuka had considered speaking at Fuji's funeral, but he knew what he really wanted to say, he couldn't. Not at a time like this, not at a place like this. This place smelled of chemicals, of dying flowers, of sadness, of tears, of death. None of which were Fuji. Tezuka would tell Fuji everything. At his own pace, at his own time, and somehow he knew, Fuji would have wanted it that way, and that he was there. Watching, listening. That if Tezuka talked to him he would know. He was Fuji. He knew everything.

The guests filed out of the room, quietly expressing condolences to Fuji's family, who were standing near the door thanking the guests for attending. Tezuka walked quickly, the rest of the tennis team behind him and when he reached Yumiko he stopped, holding out his hand. The strength in her straight posture seemed to fly out of her the moment she saw him. Yumiko reached out and clutched his hand, her long nails digging into his skin. She looked lost, trapped, as if all she wanted to do was run away as far as she could. Like this wasn't real to her. Tezuka tightened his hand on hers gently, and a look of resolve came back into Yumiko's eyes.

"Thank you for coming." Yumiko said formally, letting her hand slip out of Tezuka's and bowing to the tennis team. The rest of the team bowed back awkwardly, their arms pressed to their sides, staring down at the design of the flat, grey carpet. Tezuka's lips parted, but the question that came out surprised even himself.

"What was he buried in Yumiko?" Yumiko looked surprised, and a look of intense weariness flashed across her face. Exactly how Tezuka felt at this very moment. She understood though. She was Fuji's sister, of course she understood.

"A kimono, Tezuka. Blue, to match his eyes," was her reply, almost inaudible, even to him. But then Yumiko smiled, and Tezuka could see the resemblance. She looked like Fuji when she smiled. Tezuka couldn't stay after that, letting his head dip in her direction he stepped past her and avoided the rest of Fuji's family to the hall. Everything was too formal. The suits, the stillness, the polite smiles. Everything, was so fancy. So unlike Fuji. And all of this was for someone who would never see it.

He didn't wait for the rest of the team who were probably shaking hands with the rest of Fuji's family. Instead he walked past all the figures in dark colors, each step bringing him closer to the quiet sanctuary of his room.

----

He finally let himself cry. Alone on the tennis court where he and Fuji had once secretly, away from the rest of the team, played a game. It had been a warm summer day; they had begun while the sun was rising steadily in the sky. They had played for hours and he remembered how they had stopped keeping score. It had become just a volley of continuous play until they had both dropped where they stood, exhausted. He was sure that Fuji knew the score, had been keeping track the whole time. But Fuji had never mentioned it, and neither had he. For once they were playing where it didn't matter who won.

Blinking hazily through sweat-filled eyes he hadn't heard the soft steps padding toward him until they were almost on top of him. He had felt a hand brush his own, and with a start he had lifted his head, his elbow scraping against the green court to see Fuji lying next to him, the corners of his lips lifted into a peacefully happy smile. His eyes were open: blue, pools of deep blue that threatened to capture Tezuka until he tore himself away. By that time the sun was setting, they watched as the sun slowly began to disappear behind the too-tall skyscrapers that made the city of Tokyo. The globe of heat washed them both in a warm orange glow, shadows rising steadily until they were engulfed.

He remembered how lights had flickered on around them, and they had watched the city slowly become alive, blazing yellow, orange, red and green lights painted across the black sky. He remembered how while lifting his head to gaze at the spectacle and back up toward a grey sky he thought he might have heard a sigh next to him. A sigh so soft it was almost indistinguishable from a breath. So soft, Tezuka always told himself that he imagined it. Until now. And he wished he had lowered his head and just kissed Fuji. Fuji had been so close, so close that if he had moved, shifted just a bit to his right, their hands would have been touching. Close enough, that he could hear the rise and fall of Fuji's chest and smell of sweat evaporating off of his skin.

Tezuka remembered how Fuji would always smile when Tezuka assigned laps, and that always made the complaints of the other regulars fade into the background. He always remembered how when he was in Germany and Oishi called when he was with the team he would always strain to hear Fuji's soft voice. He had always been jealous when he heard Fuji laugh, because he wasn't there to share it with him.

Tezuka's own parents would often tell him about how stoic he was. There were many words that had been used to describe him, some were harsher than others. Cold. Heartless. Detached. Uncaring. Aloof. Apathetic. Unemotional. But he wasn't the unflappable tennis captain almost everyone thought him to be. When he was with Fuji he remembered that he didn't always have to be perfect, and that maybe, just maybe, he could have a life outside of tennis.

Fuji made him smile, and many times not until he had reached the sanctuary of his own home. But Tezuka didn't have that anymore, and he knew that if he ever forgot the way Fuji made him feel that he very well could become all of those words that people used to describe him. That's what he was without someone there to support him. That's what he would have become long ago without meeting Fuji that day three years ago.

Oishi had never judged him, and part of him knew that he loved Oishi. But not like Fuji. Oishi was his best friend and they had always been together, but now, that Fuji was gone he wondered…why hadn't he spent more time with Fuji? Fuji had always been inviting, always been willing to talk to Tezuka, to hang out with him. Why hadn't Tezuka taken the hang that Fuji had always held out for him?

And Tezuka knew that he had been afraid.

Tezuka had been too afraid to let someone into his life, someone other than those already in it, someone new. He was afraid to give someone the ability to hurt him, but so much more afraid to give himself the ability to hurt someone else. If someone had asked him at that moment why he hadn't made a move when he had wanted to so badly, he would have replied that it was best for the team.

He knew that was wasn't true. He could imagine his reply in his head.

_"I was captain of the tennis team that Fuji was a part of. We were heading to the nationals. This was the most grueling year we've ever had, but it was our year. There is a time and place._ But Fuji was gone now. There would never be a time or place. It was over, Tezuka had lost his chance, and no one knew. Not even Oishi. If there had been anyone else in Fuji's place, Fuji would have noticed. He would have seen right through Tezuka's pain, and he would have been the one who knew how to handle it. Without Fuji, there was no one who had the ability to both recognize and heal him.

And Tezuka finally realized Fuji was dead.

"Fuji, you will never be just a memory to me." Tezuka said staring into the orange glow of the sun, identical to what it had been like when Fuji had been here with him. Tezuka's legs gave out and he let himself fall into the green and white of the tennis court. _I'll never let you disappear._


End file.
